


take a shot of you and me

by kohee



Series: an extra strong cup of us [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, F/M, Fluff, Romance, coffee shop AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-27
Updated: 2016-05-27
Packaged: 2018-07-10 14:07:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6988060
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kohee/pseuds/kohee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The forging of a bond and the forming of a relationship over cups of coffee and plates of pastries. Barba/Benson [Coffee Shop AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	take a shot of you and me

**Author's Note:**

> one-shot; _take a shot of you and me_  
>  pairing: rafael barba/olivia benson  
> word count: 3468 words  
> note: A SVU Coffee Shop AU that no one asked for, but I wrote it anyway.

_CLOSED FOR WINTER_.

Liv frowns at the sign hanging outside the door of the café where she usually gets her morning take away coffee. She belts her coat tighter, feeling the early chill of winter, and looks around for an alternative. She’s already running late – there’s a morning briefing in about twenty minutes, but she just couldn’t do without her coffee.

Luckily, this is New York, and there will never be a shortage of cafés and caffeine. She notices another café a couple of doors away, and decides to just grab one from there. Quickening her step, she approaches the café, and notes the name on a small, painted wooden signboard above the door.

“The Daily Dose,” she murmurs to herself and pushes the door open. It’s definitely new, and she confirms it when she steps into the café, where it smells fresh and new, with that underlying scent of new paint that isn’t altogether too unpleasant.

The café is small, but well lit, and furnished simply with wooden furniture. An ornate oak shelf in a corner holds a rather big selection of books, and minimalistic pieces of art adorned the walls. A few tables are occupied, patrons sipping coffee and nibbling on pastries, but there is no one at the counter. Liv hurries forward, glad that she probably would not have to wait for long.

“Good morning!” She calls out cheerfully. “A macchiato to go, please.”

The barista leans forward, his elbows on the counter. Liv notes in surprise that he’s not the usual brand of barista, the young, hipster, muscular (or skinny) college types. He’s a man closer to her age, with dark brown hair, chiselled features and green eyes. He’s not very tall – Liv would place him having an inch or two on her – but he’s well built, broad shoulders and defined forearms.

All in all, he is a _very_ good-looking man.

She blinks, suddenly realising that she is sort of staring.  The barista smirks at her behind the counter, as if he knows that she was checking him out, and he’s revelling in it.

“Large, or regular?” He asks, twirling the marker pen between his fingers.

“Large, please.”

He grabs a large cup and scrawls a loopy _M_ on it. “Name?”

She frowns a little; she’s the only one waiting for a coffee after all. “Benson.”

“Unusual name.” He says, scribbling it on.

She smiles politely, and pulls out her purse to pay him. He then moves behind the coffee machine, and makes her coffee in mere minutes.

“Here you go, Benson.”

“Thank you.” She accepts her cup, and walks out of the café. On a whim, she picks up a name card from the little box on the table by the door.

She looks at the card as she sips her coffee – and it is a rather excellent cup of coffee.

_Rafael Barba; Owner._

_Hmmm._ The name rings a bell, but she couldn’t place it at all. She shrugs and stuffs the card into her coat pocket. The green-eyed barista may or may not be the owner, so Rafael may or may not be his name.

 (Not that she’s curious, or anything)

* * *

Liv’s back there the next day, and there’s a slightly bigger crowd compared to the day before. She queues up behind a young couple (two large hot chocolates) and an elderly lady (raspberry danish). He smiles in recognition as she steps up to the counter.

“Hello again. What can I get you this morning?”

“Large macchiato please, to take away.”

“Any breakfast to go with that? Our croissants are very good.”

“No, thank you.”

He hands her her coffee, and she takes a long sip in front of him. “God, this is good.” She says, almost without thinking.

He laughs, with a distinctively self-satisfied tone. “Thank you for the verification, but I already know that I’m good.

She looks at him wryly, taking another sip. “Do you talk to all your customers this way?”

“Only the certain select few.”

She scoffs, and leaves.

(She doesn’t want to admit that there is _something_ about this man)

* * *

Another morning, and she finds herself in front of The Daily Dose again. She enters the café, and he looks up from the tray of pastries he is arranging on the display shelf.

“Benson.” He smiles, and it’s a confident, arrogant smile and she feels a slight lick of irritation.

“Good morning.”

He grabs a large cup. “A large macchiato to go, I presume?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Extremely presumptuous of you, seeing that it’s only my third time in here.”

“You don’t seem like too much of a milk or sugar person.”

She’s not really, but something in her compels her to say otherwise, just to prove him wrong. “I’ll like a large latte today, please, with one sugar. To go.”

He barely misses a beat as he writes her order and her name on the cup, and she’s on her way in five minutes.

(The latte is way too milky and definitely too sweet for her liking)

* * *

It isn’t that many days later, and Liv is again at the café.

“Large macchiato, please.”

“Didn’t like the latte the last time?” He says in conversational tone.

She rolls her eyes a little. "Fine, you were right, I'm not a milk or sugar person, and the latte was too milky." The macchiato, with its tiny shot of steamed milk, suits her best. 

“Now, that isn’t too hard to admit that I was right.” He says, his tone teasing.

She snorts, and swipes the coffee he hands her. She’s running late, and it is getting a more than just a little disconcerting, this man and his arrogant demeanour that seems strangely attractive.

(She doesn’t feel like pondering on what that means)

* * *

It goes on for a while; her getting her morning coffee, him throwing in a few suggestive and snarky remarks here and there. She’s getting good at snipping back, and it’s a weird sort of dynamic they have going on.

She’s not quite sure why she engages, though.

For God’s sake, she is a grown woman, a Lieutenant with the NYPD, and she’s acting like some twenty-year old college student. And given the circumstances of her life, it’s not like as if anything could eventuate out of this (whatever _this_ is).

She doesn’t even know his name.

(For all she knows, he may be married and/or divorced with five children, or maybe he’s gay)

* * *

“It’s Rafael.” He tells her one day, handing her the steaming macchiato.

Liv looks up from her phone, preoccupied. “Excuse me?”

“My name. It’s Rafael.”

It’s on the tip of her tongue to say something slightly mean – _I didn’t ask for it, I didn’t care to know it_ – but instead, she finds herself saying. “And I’m Olivia.”

“And here am I, thinking that Benson is your first name.” He says in mock dismay. He then pops a warm, buttery croissant into a bag and hands it to her.

“On the house, Olivia.” He rolls the O in her name, and funnily enough, she doesn’t find that annoying.

(It’s not great of a sign)

* * *

She enters the cafe one morning, and he isn’t there.

Instead, there’s a young, pretty, college-aged Asian girl standing behind the counter. 

Liv places her order – a  large macchiato as usual. Her cup of macchiato that morning is lukewarm and not entirely satisfactory.

(it’s weak, that’s all, there are no other reasons)

* * *

The next time she’s there, it’s actually evening, and she stops by after work. It’s quiet, there’s no one else there, and he is perched behind the counter, reading a book.

“Kurt Vonnegut.” She notes the author’s name on the well-worn book spine.

He _almost_ lights up when he sees her, and his smile is devoid of his usual smirks. “Olivia.” He puts away his book, and grabs a take away cup. “Your usual?”

“Actually...” She unbuttons her trench coat, looking at the selection of pastries. “My usual, but I’ll have it here. Along with the peach danish.”

She takes a seat near the window. She knows she has to be getting home soon – Lucy has to leave in an hour or so, and she isn’t quite sure what is it that made her stop by The Daily Dose instead of heading home straight away.

(She knows, but she just doesn’t want to give thought to it)

Rafael brings out her coffee and her pastry, and sets it on the table. Instead of leaving her to it, he pulls out the chair opposite to her, and settles down on it.

“Don’t mind if I do.”

She shoots him a look over the rim of her coffee cup. “It doesn’t look like I am able to object.”

“Well, you’ve been coming here for a while now, I thought it’s only fair I find out a little more about my favourite customer.”

Her heart gives the slightest skip, and she leans back on her chair, corner of her mouth lifting in a wry smile. “Mr. Barba, are you hitting on me?”

He nods towards her left hand. “No ring, so I’m assuming it’s fair game. But...do tell me if it’s not.” His tone is casual, but something flits across his eyes.

She sets down the coffee cup, and picks up her pastry. She tears off a corner, trying to think of how to phrase she is about to say (she actually doesn’t know, because she’s kind of all _jumbled_ now, damn him). “I’m not...married, or taken, but I’m not looking either.”

He lifts his hands. “Ah. Rejection. I get it.”

“Rafael, it’s...kind of complicated, but...”

“It’s okay.” He interrupts. “I’m familiar with the ‘it’s complicated’ theory. But just so you know...” He leans forward, his eyes fixed on hers, and she feels her breath hitching slightly. “I don’t give up easily.”

(He does strike her as the type that doesn’t)

* * *

If she really wants to stop this (again, whatever _this_ is) from going any further, she could’ve easily just stopped going. But she doesn’t (and it’s not just because the coffee is really good). 

“You know, it’s about time you tell me what you do. In this sense, it feels like you know more about me, and I don’t feel that’s fair.” He says, handing her her usual order.

“I’m a police officer.” She says matter-of-factly, sipping her coffee.

His eyebrows shoot up. “A Detective.”

“A Lieutenant.” She corrects him.

He whistles. “Impressive, Olivia. And which division are you in?”

“Special Victims Unit.”

His face twists fleetingly, and the colours in his eyes seem to shift. “That’s...pretty heavy.”

“I’m not going to pretend it isn’t.”

He tears the napkin he is holding, seemingly thinking about what to say next. “Doesn’t it feel thankless at times?” He says. “Seeing some of them walk when you know that they are simply animals that deserve to rot in jail?”

She’s taken aback by the sudden venom in his voice. “It does, at times.” She says carefully. “I’ve been with SVU for seventeen years. It never gets any easier, but it is my job, and my responsibility, to do everything I can to make sure these people gets put away. Sometimes we do, sometimes we don’t. But we always try. And sometimes, that’s the best we can do.”

The expression on his face is unreadable. “But sometimes the best isn’t often enough.” He says quietly.

She wonders what that means, and on some level, she feels slightly offended. Is he implying that they’re (she’s) not doing the job well? She’s about to say something when he looks at her, and touches her hand briefly.

“Seventeen years, Olivia. You’re really something else.”

Something in his eyes tells her not to push it, so she doesn’t.

(But she wonders)

* * *

They fall into a routine of some sorts. She’s taken to going to his café twice a day at times, her usual morning coffee run, and several times after work (when the cases are not piling up; when she has the spare moments to breathe). She stays for a while in the evenings (for a short hour or so), and they talk whenever he has a free moment.

He tells how he was constantly failing at the numerous barista courses he took, but he wasn’t a quitter, and ploughed through all of it before he eventually perfected the art. He tells her how he started the Daily Dose, and the stories of his customers.

She tells him about her job, in small doses, and sometimes, her days in court. She is careful to keep everything at the surface, she knows not everyone can handle hearing about what she does. Strangely enough, sometimes she feels like he _gets_ her perfectly. Like he understands everything she’s feeling, with regards to the victims, or her work, or the court cases.

(She doesn’t tell him everything, not even the most important thing)

(And that’s okay, because she senses he’s hiding something as well)

* * *

“Liv, I need you to sign these forms off, for Evidence.” Amanda walks into her office and hands her a pile of forms.

She puts on her glasses and takes the sheaf of papers, flipping through them, reading quickly and signing them off. Amanda perches at the edge of her desk, waiting, and her eyes land on the slightly crumpled name card on the table. She picks it up, turning it between her fingers.

“Rafael Barba owns a café?” She says, the surprise evident in her voice.

Liv’s ears perks up, but she keeps her voice nonchalant. “Hmmm? Do you know him?”

“Only by reputation.” Amanda puts down his card. “Liv, surely you remember, too. He is – sorry, _was_ – the ADA for Brooklyn SVU. He lost a really high profile case a couple of years ago, and pissed off the higher ups over there, because they didn’t want him to take it to trial to begin with. He resigned and left.”

She leans back in her chair, pondering. She had thought that his name seemed familiar from the first day.

(And now she knows why)

* * *

She walks up to him that evening, and places her palms on the counter. “When were you planning on telling me what you were the ADA for Brooklyn SVU? Bearing in mind the frequent conversations we have about my job?”

He looks away, averting his gaze, and runs a cloth over the clean counter. “Were, like you just said. It’s in the past.”

She opens her mouth to say something, and he cuts in. “With all due respect, Olivia, it’s not something that I like to talk about, so I’ll appreciate it if you drop it.”

Inexplicably, she feels hurt, and it must have shown on her face, as he suddenly looks remorseful. “Look, I’m sorry that I sounded harsh, but I really do not want to talk about it.”

“That’s fine.” She says automatically (although she doesn’t feel fine at all). She clears her throat, and pulls out her purse. “Large macchiato to go, please.”

He drops his dishcloth. “You’re angry at me.”

She wants to say that she is not, but the lie sticks to her throat.

(She doesn’t know why it bothers her so much but it _just does_ )

* * *

Finally, he tells her, whilst sitting together on the couch in his café after closing time (with Liv’s usual on the coffee table); the whole sordid story of his fight to obtain justice for a seventeen-year-old girl who was raped by the president of a huge development corporation. The man had connections and ties to the city’s politicians, and all the important people, and he was willing to offer financial compensation and plead to a misdemeanour charge. His bosses expected him to accept the deal.

But he refused to, and with the backing of Brooklyn SVU, he took it to trial. He didn’t expect to lose; but he did. Unwilling to give the city the satisfaction of firing him, he resigned, and left, leaving behind everything he had known, including his own political ambitions.

“I didn’t used to want to do the right thing.” He confesses. “Winning means more than anything. But as the years roll by and the cases roll in, it all just...changed.” He laughs sardonically. “It’s ironic, really.”

She’s quiet for a moment, running her fingers along the rim of her coffee cup. “Do you...miss it?”

“I miss being in court sometimes.” He answers frankly. “Other things, not so much.”

They lapsed into a companionable silence, before he breaks it. “So there you have it. My life story.” He says wryly. “Sorry you asked?”

She faces him squarely, her eyes serious. “No.”

He reaches out, and takes both her hands. He lifts them to his lips, and kisses her knuckles while watching her carefully. Her eyes are soft, and she doesn’t pull away.

Rafael draws her closer, and presses his mouth to hers. She gives a little moan, and it’s like the floodgates have opened, as the sudden admission of weeks of mutual attraction spills over. Their lips collide, and clash, as they try to find a pace that suits them. She bits down on his bottom lip, and sweeps her tongue over it to sooth the nip, and he opens his mouth to allow her in, letting her into the caverns of his mouth, relishing the feel of her tongue battling his.

She sucks on his tongue, sliding her fingers into his hair as he runs his hands along her body, touching her hips, her back, her neck. She feels his fingers ghosting downwards, stopping at the waistband of her slacks, and her eyes fly open.

“Rafael, wait.” She says, tearing her mouth from his, as he looks at her, the arousal in his eyes apparent. She wants this as much as he does, but yet, she can’t.

“We...I...well. I can’t.”

She sees his face fall, before his pride kicks in and he tries to look unconcerned. “Is it really that complicated, Olivia?”

(Yes, it is. It really is)

* * *

She holds Noah’s hand tightly, and takes a deep breath before pushing the door open. He sees her walking in, and a smile flickers across his face. Then he sees Noah beside her, and his smile fades away.

He turns and says something to the Asian girl beside him (his co-barista), before taking off his apron and walking out to her. He stops just in front of them, his face carefully blank, betraying none of his emotions.

He crouches down, and grins at Noah. “Hello, little guy. What’s your name?”

The little boy smiles briefly, but pushes his face to hide against Olivia’s leg, not saying anything. She clears her throat.

“Rafael, this is my son, Noah Porter Benson. Noah, say hello to Uncle Rafael.”

“Hello.” Noah says quickly, and resumes hiding behind his mother.

He takes a step closer to Liv, his eyes intense. “Is this your so-call complication?”

She runs her hand over Noah’s head lovingly. “He’s not biologically mine.” She says quietly. “His mother...well...there’s a long and sad story behind that, but I adopted him, and...”

She draws in a slightly shaky breath. “...now you understand why I said it’s complicated. And it’s okay. I want to be honest with you, and I don’t expect you to...mmph!”

He cuts her off by kissing her fiercely, oblivious to the other customers in the cafe, and the little boy staring at them curiously.

(It really is not as complicated as she thinks it is)

* * *

He sits Noah on the kitchen counter, and teaches him how to make cookies. Noah chooses coloured sprinkles, chocolate chips and marshmallow bits, and Rafael bakes him giant, colourful, soft cookies.

“It’s not that hard to win him over.” He says smugly, as she rolls her eyes and smacks him on the arm.

(He doesn’t add that it’s not that hard for Noah to completely win _him_ over as well)

* * *

If someone was to tell her, couple of months ago, that one day, she will wake up in bed beside that annoying, smarmy barista-slash-owner of that new café, she would have had that person committed to an asylum.

But today, she is waking up to the feel of Rafael pressing against her back, his legs entangled with hers underneath the quilts, his body warm and delicious against her.

She turns to face him, cupping his jaw with one hand. One green eye opens, and he yawns, his arm sliding around her and resting on her bare hip.

“Penny for your thoughts, Liv.”

She laughs, her thumb stroking his cheek lightly. “You’re worth more than that.”

She kisses him like she couldn’t get enough of him (and she couldn’t).

He kisses her like she is his everything (and she may very well be).

**Author's Note:**

> I honestly don’t know what possessed me to write a SVU coffee shop AU (of all AUs). I blame the finale. 
> 
> I grappled with who to write as the barista. Barba seemed more suited as the customer being the caffeine guzzler he is, but I was writing it and it didn’t seem to work very well, so I switched him to the barista role.
> 
> I might revisit this AU again for a bit of a role reversal. Let’s see how whacked out I get in the interim of waiting for Season 18.


End file.
